my backbone has been extricated

to verify the veracity

of this vengeance.

upon examination

of the exhumed emotions,

prognosis is simply

a noxious potion

of gnostic hypnosis –

eye for an eye,

three of a kind,

that high-flying wine.

everyone deserves a fresh start

whenever deemed necessary,

damned if it’s mid-moon cycle,

two months after your birthday,

three-quarters of the way to the new year.

forgiven, but your forget me not eyes

won’t let go

of the bottle, oh…

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